


Destiny and Organic Chemistry

by Olivia_ES



Series: An Equal to Converse With [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen, Like really slow, Penguin's Mom - Freeform, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivia_ES/pseuds/Olivia_ES
Summary: Teenage Ed Nygma is excited to starting attending Gotham University, Oswald Cobblepot is looking forward to graduating. When they end up in an Organic Chemistry class together Ed is intrigued by the chance to know more about the man who beat him at a logic puzzle the previous summer, Oswald is more concerned with why a freshman is threatening his place at the top of the class.





	1. First Day of School

Edward Nygma arrived on Gotham University’s campus with a single suitcase containing all his worldly possessions. He walked towards the dorms, admiring the Second Empire style brick architecture of the buildings he passed on the way. Ed had been lucky enough to win a scholarship that included room and board, but he was somewhat nervous about the prospect of having a roommate. Ed had never had a sibling to share a room with, and he’d been sleeping in his car since he got emancipated. But he had been very specific about his personal habits and expectations in the roommate survey. Hopefully whoever was in charge of pairing students had been appropriately diligent. He entered the dorm building he’d been assigned. Newly constructed, it’s modern utilitarian design clashed with the surrounding buildings. Ed signed in at the desk and received his key. The overcrowded elevators had long lines and moved slowly, so he opted to walk up the four flights of stairs to his room: 401. He extended the key towards the lock before pausing. He wasn’t sure what the proper roommate etiquette was here. What if his roommate was changing, unlikely at the moment since it was the middle of move-in day, but they would be living together 24/7. The sound of the lock turning would not give enough of a warning, and Ed certainly didn’t want to be barged in on while undressed. Best to set precedent now. He knocked lightly on the door before inserting the key and entering the room. The dorm was small with two beds, two dressers, and two desks shoved together on either side. His roommate had already moved in and Ed was pleased to see that their belongings were arranged tidily. A slight young man sat on the bed reading a psychology textbook. This must be the roommate. Ed dithered a moment before approaching him.  


“Hello,” the man lowered the book just enough to make eye contact, Ed extended his hand, “I’m Edward Nygma.” The man just stared at him stoically. Should he say more? ‘I’m your new roommate,’ perhaps? Declare his major? Before Ed could decide on a course of action the man replied in a monotone voice.  


“Jonathan Crane. Don’t make messes. Don’t play music. Don’t consume drugs or alcohol in here. Don’t bring any girlfriends here for sexual relations. Or at all.” He returned his attention to his textbook. Ed let his arm drop down to his side and turned to his side of the room to begin unpacking. Internally he was relieved. It may have been a bit awkward, but most of his interactions with other people were. At least his roommate had been very clear about his expectations and fortunately they were all rules Ed was happy to comply with.

Ed’s first class of the day was Organic Chemistry I, and he was positively shivering with excitement. He arrived early and waited by the door but there were so many other students there when the doors opened that the first few rows filled up before he could get inside. He rushed to claim a seat in the middle of the room so as to avoid being relegated to the back rows where several students were whipping out binoculars in an effort to get a clear view of the professor. After introducing himself as Dr. Woodrue and reviewing the syllabus, the professor began by drawing a Lewis structure of the compound Hexane. He then asked the class what it was. Ed rolled his eyes, he hoped the professor was purposely keeping things simple for the first lesson and would cover more challenging material in the future. He itched to raise his hand, but doubt seized him. He had studied the Lewis structures of various compounds including Hexane extensively in high school, but it had been a long summer. He was sure it was hexane, but what if it was actually butane? His palms began to sweat, and he kept them in his lap. The professor called on someone in the first row. Whoever it was, they were very short because Ed could only just make out their hand and couldn’t see the back of their head. The professor pointed to them and they stood up. They were very short. And they were clearly standing on their chair to compensate. But although they were small and far away, once Ed saw their face they consumed his vision as if they were the only person in the room. It was the man from the fair. The only person to have won his game. To have bested him. He was dressed even more formally now in a tailored three-piece suit with a variety of expensive-looking accessories. His dark hair was now slicked back emphasizing the asymmetry of his face. And making his large green eyes even more prominent. Ed shook his head, dispelling the roaring in his ears as he became aware that the man was wrapping up his positively poetic explanation of the Hexane Lewis structure. The professor stepped forward as he stepped off his seat to it back down.  


“Thank you for that… …eloquent description, Mr.…?” The man straightened his already ram-rod posture in a futile attempt to inflate his height.  


“Cobblepot, Sir. Oswald Cobblepot”. Ed couldn’t tell if he was breathless from hyperventilation or failure to inhale at all. Oswald Cobblepot. He finally knew the name of the only man to have proved himself an intellectual challenger. Of course, more data would need to be gathered before the anecdotal experience could be considered a pattern. Still, it was surely Fate that had led to Ed sharing his first class at college with the only person to have bested him in a competition of wits. Oswald Cobblepot was like a guide or gatekeeper in Ed’s very own Hero’s Journey, helping him pass from his small old life to his grand new adventure. Ed wasn’t sure how what he was supposed to do to complete this transition, but he couldn’t wait to see what Destiny had in store.


	2. An Encounter in Organic Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald's first day of senior year is unremarkable, at least until his Organic Chemistry class.

Oswald’s first day of his senior year of college was deceptively uneventful. His first class was Organic Chemistry 1, a core science class for his Ornithology minor he’d been putting off. He found chemistry utterly dull but hoped his Forensic Accounting class and mechanical engineering courses would be suitably stimulating. He just didn’t see any practical application for the material they would be covering, the little diagrams were so abstract, and the lab environment so removed from the outside world. Oswald preferred subjects he could experience with his own five senses. His Mechanical Engineering major was full of technical diagrams, but they translated into real tools he could hold in his hands. His Ornithology courses had real applications in the way he cared for and trained his birds. His second minor in Accounting aided him in making decisions about his family’s finances that had real consequences for their net worth. Even his artistic education had tangible effects on how he experienced the arts as a patron. Learning the structure of chemical compounds was just busywork by comparison. However, he wouldn’t allow his personal apathy for the subject effect his grades. He had been the top student in every class he’d taken since elementary school. He’d read the first few chapters already in preparation, and at the end of the day, Organic Chemistry 1 was an introductory course. It may bore him, but it would be a piece of cake.

As a senior, Oswald knew what it took to get one of the coveted front row seats in a lecture hall. He woke up at 4:30 am to get ready. After a quick morning shower, he spent half an hour getting ready. He saved time by choosing his outfit the night before, but he had to make sure every piece of clothing went on just right, employing sock garters and shirt stays to keep everything smooth. Hair and make-up took the longest. Oswald knew he was hardly pleasant to look at. His limbs were too short, his face was lopsided, his nose too long, his eyes were a weird greenish color, and on top of it all, he was chubby. But just there was one feature he took pride in: his hair. 

Just because he was homely and misshapen didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of his appearance. He wore tailored suits and employed every makeup trick he knew to even out his face and enhance his eyes. And his hair he styled to perfection. The placement of each strand was purposeful. He sculpted it up to enhance his height than brought it over his forehead to fall into his face to help conceal it. He made sure to use only the best products so that the effect looked natural and didn’t make his hair appear greasy. Sometimes he’d even employ a little hair dye to liven it up. He would never be the kind of man to make ladies swoon or be compared favorably to popular actors of the day, but he would forget his mother’s birthday before he would be the kind of man who could be accused of not putting effort into his exterior. He may not be handsome, but he could still be stylish and classy. 

Once he had finished getting dressed he grabbed his school bag and had the chauffeur drive him to campus, stopping to grab a coffee and some kind of breakfast food to eat on the way. He then positioned himself right outside the doors exactly an hour and a half before class time and took advantage of the time to study. In this case, since it was the first day, that meant reviewing what he’d read of the first three chapters in order to have a head start. By the time the doors opened dozens of students were jostling for position, here Oswald took advantage of his umbrella to clear a path for himself. He was also not above taking advantage of his height to duck through the forest of legs to get ahead.

The lecture hall itself was rather drab. Beige walls, a simple blackboard hanging innocuously on the wall before the amphitheater of seats. It all felt like something out of another era, only incandescent bulbs burning morosely above to remind them they were in fact in the 20th century.

Fortunately the very first question the Professor asked was to provide the name of the Hexane compound he had drawn on the board. Oswald had been sure to memorize the names of all the compounds in the first three chapters of his book and basic information about them in preparation for just this sort of question. The thrill of pleasure from his own prescience warmed his chest as his hand pierced the air. He was called upon, of course. Oswald had learned early in his academic career the importance of student-teacher relationships. Good relationships meant more lenient grading, additional accommodation for time-conflicts, and higher quality letters of recommendation. The art of cultivating these relationships was one that he was still refining his technique at, but “participation” was an element he understood to be crucial. Oswald was always sure to answer at least two questions per class. He stood up on his chair to compensate for his height and launched into a thorough explanation of the Hexane compound and its nomenclature. 

As the class wore on the professor continued to ask questions until all but the shyest students had given answers. Then he pulled out the attendance sheet and called on the remaining students by name. Oswald turned in his seat to bask in the schadenfreude of watching idiots sweat. If they couldn’t answer the question, the professor would ask them another. Most students were able to at least give an educated guess by the second or third question which is all the professor seemed to require. Oswald could feel his respect for the professor dwindle with each instance of leniency. He couldn’t comprehend why the man bothered with the questioning if he wasn’t going to demand substantive answers, but at least the spectacle provided some entertainment. Oswald imagined what barbs he would eviscerate these lazy students with if he were the instructor. 

“Nettleton, Jane” stuttered her way through a claim that the “Lewis structure” was named after Meriwether Lewis, which left Oswald chortling silently through the professor’s nauseatingly patient corrective explanation, then it was time for a “Nygma, Edward” to answer. Oswald felt a sense of unease wash over him as soon as the name was uttered, a feeling that increased once he laid eyes on the mousey and unfairly tall man. He was sure he’d heard that name before. He was sure he’d seen that face before. But where? Certainly not at any society function, the man’s clothes were clearly old and/or second-hand. He hadn’t shared a class with him before, he looked too young to be in college at all let alone be more than a freshman. Nygma was shaking with nerves as the professor asked him a question about Butane. 

“I… I don’t know.” His hands were twisting in each other's grasp. The professor asked him another question and another. His answer remained the same. Sweat collected on his brow, he kept reaching up a hand to adjust his glasses. They weren’t out of place and his hands were shaking so badly the action did more harm than good. Finally, as the professor asked him a sixth question he responded with: “Dating back to one hundred of the unluckiest number, I can capture any man in lethargy deeper than slumber. If the level of conviction I outnumber, the greatest of minds I can encumber. ” The lines between the professor’s eyebrows creased further.

“What?” The professor's eyes were vacant with a lack of understanding, but Oswald’s mind was coming into focus. A riddle. Suddenly memories of a summer night at the fair and a booth with a necklace flooded his mind. 

“Uncertainty, Professor. I just can’t be sure of the answer.” The professor finally moved on to another student leaving Oswald to ponder what had turned the eccentric but engaging young man from the fair into the jittery wreck before him.


	3. Anxiety and Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I now have enough of this series planned out that I can commit to weekly updates of 1,000+ words!

After that disastrous Organic Chemistry 1 class, his introductory Programming 1 course was a breeze. The professor didn’t ask any questions and Ed could just lose himself in the lecture. He hoped his Cyber Security class tomorrow would be a similar experience. He hoped Professor Woodrue would ask fewer questions next time. Ed sat down on his bed and rifled through his textbook, checking the answers he’d wanted to give against the cold facts in black ink. Everyone was correct. If only he could have been sure in the moment. The next class Ed wrote down the answer to every question the professor asked any student. He was right every time but when Professor Woodrue called on him he froze up. Doubt seeped from his spine, infecting his internal organs until he felt sick with it. He looked down at his paper. He’d been right about every other question. His choppy handwriting stared up at him, teasing him with what he thought was the correct answer. But that was the problem, he _thought_. What if he was wrong? Then the answer he gave wouldn’t be the truth.  


“I’m sorry, I don’t know sir.” This time the professor didn’t bother asking a different question, he just moved on with the lecture. Ed felt guilt swell in his gut. But it wasn’t enough to cancel out the doubt. The next question was addressed to the class as a whole, a small hand in front beat every other to the air.  


“Cobblepot”. Ed watches as the man clambers onto his seat to give his answer in the same eloquent fashion he had previously. He hit every main point from the textbook while maintaining his own syntax and phrasing, so he never sounded like was regurgitating facts, rather like was sharing a fun story. He would even insert a few joking comments that Ed knew he would chuckle at if he weren’t so anxious. What Ed wouldn’t give to be able to talk like that, with such confidence, accuracy, and personality. It was no wonder this man had beat his time at the fair. He was clearly one-in-a-million special. He spoke like a poet and dressed like an aristocrat. Ed had never wanted to speak to someone so much in his whole life. But he had also never felt so unworthy of someone’s time and attention. He needed to get his own act together first.  


“…And that’s why fractional distillation can be thought of as the repeated distillation of the same vapor.” Oswald sat back down, and the professor glanced at the clock, now only a couple minutes from the end of class.  


“Read chapters four and five and be prepared to discuss case studies two, three, and five on Monday. Remember, we meet in the lab on Friday, so be sure to bring your goggles”. Ed sighed in relief as he packed up his notebook. Surely the lab would give him a better chance to show his capabilities as a student and scientist. The only question, the accuracy of the hypothesis; the data the only answer necessary.

On Friday, the Professor Woodrue assigned lab partners. Ed got paired with a blonde girl named Grace Balin who he’d seen sitting in the first row. Oswald Cobblepot got placed in a group of three due to the uneven number of students. Ed sighed, Fate was not being very helpful right now. Lab work was one of the few parts of school Ed had always excelled at. It would have been nice to be able to reintroduce himself to Oswald Cobblepot in an environment he felt more comfortable in. Or usually felt more comfortable in. After the groups were given their assignment Ed hurried to prepare the materials as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, unlike in high school where his partners had been content to sit back and let him do his thing, Grace wanted to be involved.  


“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you doing? Shouldn’t we talk about this first? Delegate responsibilities?” Her hands flapped about, head twitching as her eyebrows reached for her hairline. Ed stared down at the lab table, clenching and unclenching his hands in his lap beneath it.  


“Well, the experiment is simple. We just have to separate the solids from the liquids via filtration and then find the compounds with the correct solubility by using recrystallization.” She leaned back in her chair slightly, narrowing her eyes at him as she lowered her hands onto the table. Ed avoided her eyes, focusing on twisting his fingers together. He wished he were better at reading body language.  


“Okay, well. I’ll start on the filtration procedure while you record our process for the lab report, and then you can handle the recrystallization while I take notes.” Ed wanted to go first, but he couldn’t afford to waste any more time, so he simply nodded and opened his notebook. Grace frequently paused to get Ed’s input on their experiment, which Ed appreciated at first. However, his partner was slow and methodical, and Ed fidgeted in distress as he saw other groups surpass them in progress. He kept his eyes focused on his paper and tried to block out the chatter around them. But so many people were talking so loudly it was impossible not to overhear. He made sure not to give input on any point he had overheard a classmate discussing and concentrated on writing down what his partner was doing. In horror, he heard Oswald Cobblepot’s voice ring out over the hubbub.  


“Alright gentlemen, on to Recrystallization. You, hand me those and then dispose of the liquids. You, make sure to write down _everything_ I’m saying.” In panic, Ed shoved his notebook at his partner and stuck his fingers in his ears.  


“Write down what you’re doing, I can’t take notes right now.” Ed started humming a bit to himself to block out other voices, but he was disturbed by his partner bumping his shoulder. Ed reluctantly removed his fingers.  


“What are you doing? I’m wearing gloves and I need to use my hands to complete the filtration, write down what I’m doing!” A few tables over Oswald Cobblepot was standing on top of a stool executing a perfect recrystallization and dictating loudly to his teammate with the notepad.  


“You, monitor these temperatures closely, we need them to stay constant.” Ed’s eyes stung. He loved the recrystallization technique and now he couldn’t do it.  


“Okay, but you have to do the recrystallization as well, then.” He picked back up his notepad. Grace stared at him a moment, mouth open, eyes blinking.  


“Are you kidding m- No, never mind. Of course, I’ll do it.” Her eyebrows contracted, and she pressed her lips so tightly together they were barely visible as she turned back to the experiment. Ed knew that expression all too well. His vision blurred from the moisture building up in his eyes. He blinked hard until it dissipated and focused on his note-taking. As they moved on to recrystallization he noticed Grace wasn’t paying close attention to the temperatures and they were fluctuating. He swallowed hard.  


“I’m faster than cold and can ascend more easily, too. You would die without me, but too much of me will kill you. What am I?” Not one of his best, but it worked. She shot him a look but didn’t answer. She also didn’t check the temperatures. Ed bit his lip literally, as a way of biting his tongue metaphorically, and wrote the riddle down in the margins of his notebook.  


When he and Grace got their lab report back on Monday the fluctuating temperatures had skewed their results, losing them a sizable number of points. Grace huffed in frustration. Ed turned his gaze to the floor. He had hoped the college environment would allow him the opportunity to earn higher grades. Wasn’t that why he had scored so high on those tests? Why he was here at all? Because the issues that had plagued him during his primary and secondary education might be managed better in a university setting? Apparently not. Ed slumped into his seat. If he couldn’t get his grades up his scholarship would be in jeopardy. He could end up a college drop-out, destined for obscurity. A nobody forever. Ed shook his head. He was smart, he was. He knew the material, he just needed some creative thinking. “Creative thinking” sounded a lot like bending the rules. Bending the rules was code for _cheating_. Ed tipped his head forward until it bumped into the top of his desk. After a frustrating class discussion during which Edward was too anxious to ask any questions and too uncertain to answer any, Professor Woodrue announced a quiz for Wednesday. Ed’s stomach felt like it had turned to stone.

On Wednesday Ed slipped into his seat, wiped his clammy palms on his pants, and hoped his stomach wouldn’t expel anything onto his desk. He had skipped dinner the night before and breakfast this morning, too nervous to eat, and the combination of nausea and hunger was quite unpleasant. He unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it in his mouth. Chewing gum during a test had been proven to improve test scores and he could use all the help he could get. Chewing gum didn’t give him an unfair advantage, did it? Tests were supposed to be an even playing field. If chewing gum improves people’s scores and some people had it and some people didn’t that tipped the scales didn’t it? Ed almost spat out the gum, but instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He counted down from 169 by 13s. He stood up and approached the professor.  


“Professor Woodrue, sir, is it alright if I chew gum during the test? I know it can improve testing performance, but I don’t want to disadvantage other students who don’t have gum.” The professor just squinted at him slightly. “I would be happy to share my gum with other students if it would help solve the issue, but I don’t think I have enough for everyone. Maybe if some of them also have gum and would be willing to share we could get enough pieces for-” the professor made a brief cutting motion in the air with his hand. Fingers flat. Palm facing Edward at a slight angle. Ed had seen it enough times to recognize it as a “stop speaking” gesture.  


“Mr. Nygma, you don’t have to share your gum, and you can absolutely chew some during the test. Just be sure you have whatever amount you want in your mouth before the test starts. I don’t want you ruffling around for additional pieces during the test and disturbing other students.” Ed sighed in relief.  


“Thank you, sir.” His stomach felt a little calmer, but he knew he had to triple check or it would bother him all day. “So, I can chew gum during the test?”  


“Yes, Mr. Nygma.”  


“I can even chew two pieces during the test so long as they are both in my mouth before it starts”  


“Yes. Mr. Nygma.” Ed scurried back to his seat, embarrassed, but reassured. He laid out two newly-sharpened #2 pencils and his calculator on his desk. He took out two pieces of gum and popped them in his mouth. He put everything else away in his bag. He looked up to see Professor Woodrue closing the classroom door and beginning to pass out the test.  


“Everyone, make sure you have an empty seat between you and your neighbor. There are four versions of this quiz in four different colors. Yours should be different from the people on either side of you and the people in the row ahead of and behind you.” Ed sighed in relief. He loved when instructors took care to put in extensive safeguards against cheating, it took some of the pressure off him. The professor handed a pile of quiz sheets to the person at the end of Ed’s row. “You may begin as soon as you get a copy. You may take a break if you finish in under a half an hour. Just be sure to be back by then since I will begin today’s lecture at that time. This is a simple quiz just to make sure you’re paying attention in class and doing the reading, so most of you should be done in half that time.” Ed bounced his heel against the floor. He took a quiz sheet and passed the pile to the person next to him. Both his neighbors had already started, but Ed made sure to wait until the last person in the last row had received theirs before commencing. 

He was overjoyed to find the quiz consisted entirely of multiple choice and short-answer questions with a heavy emphasis on the former. He quickly began circling letters making sure to read each question exactly three times before answering and writing a riddle or two in front of the correct choice whose answer was the same. Most of the riddles weren’t particularly clever, but he felt the tension inside him release a little every time he finished one. Once he’d finished he reread the entire quiz three times to double check that he’d understood and answered the questions correctly and that his riddles all made sense. The process took him the entire half-hour, but it was worth it to be able to hand in the quiz with every question answered and no impulse to rip the whole thing up. He had felt that urge flare up a few times when he’d accidentally seen a word on the paper of a student in the row in front of him, before remembering that they had different questions and thanking Professor Woodrue silently in his head. He had even been able to write out an answer to the extra credit essay question that he could be proud of because rather than asking him to describe a process or recall information, like so many such questions, it had asked him to design an experiment. Ed returned to his seat with a satisfied sigh. Maybe this could work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this series, I'm drawing heavily on the comics, but Gotham has been a heavy influence and nearly all the people reading this are Gotham fans. When I use characters that have different names in the comics or combine characters from both mediums, which name should I use? For instance, Oswald's mom is named Gertrude on Gotham but Miranda in the comics. There is also no Martin in the comics, and while I plan on utilizing the Martin = Emperor Penguin theory, that still leaves the question of Martin vs. Ignatius Ogilvy as a name to use. If anyone has an opinion on this conundrum, please let me know in the comments!


	4. New Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald spends some time at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some mixed feedback on the naming question, but most people seem to enjoy some comics inspiration. So, I've decided to use the name of the interpretation I draw on the most, and then provide a guide for who their comics/tv-show counterpart is. And when in doubt, I'll lean towards the comic name. Since Miranda doesn't have her own tag and Gertrude is the heavier influence, I'm using the latter name. So, the guide is:
> 
> **Gertrude Kapelput** = Miranda Cobblepot (= Esther Cobblepot)

The door of the mansion creaked as Oswald slipped into the entryway. He slipped out of his clothes and into the robe hanging next to the far door.  


"Hello Mother, I’m home”. He heard clinking from the kitchen as he headed upstairs. 

“Oswald! You aren’t in your school clothes, are you?” Oswald sighed as he headed towards the stairs. 

“No mother, I changed into my robe”. He began climbing the stairs, he heard his mother turn the sink on and was relieved to hear the tell-tale gurgle of the kettle filling. 

“Remember to take a shower, I hung up a suit for you in the bathroom”. Oswald opened the door to his room to toss his school bag on the bed. So far, his school things had been able to escape his mother’s decontamination regimen, and he would like it to stay that way. 

“I’m taking one now Mother, I’ll meet you in the sitting room when I’m finished”. After a quick shower with a sturdy shower cap – in an effort to preserve his hairdo – and a few minutes dressing - and salvaging his hairdo – he descended the stairs and slumped down on the sofa. His mother hurried in with a cup of tea. 

“Ozzie, dear? Oh, my little college boy, working so hard.” Oswald rolled his eyes, but his chest tightened and warmed. Then it chilled as he noticed his mother was wearing her velvet gloves. 

“Hi, Mom. I would hardly call what I do at school ‘working hard’. Managing our estate, that’s work” he sipped the tea and set the cup on a coaster, “speaking of which, would you fetch me my briefcase and today's mail?” She toddled off and he took advantage of her absence to finish the tea and gear himself up for the inevitable argument to come. His mother shuffled back in with his black leather case and a stack of envelopes. Oswald accepted the items and placed them on the coffee table next to his empty teacup. He took a deep breath and caught his mother’s damp hands in his own. 

“Mother, why are you wearing your velvet gloves?” She froze guiltily, meeting his eyes from beneath her eyelashes. 

“I was cold”. Oswald held her gaze until she looked away, then slowly stripped off her gloves. Her hands were raw, cracked, and moist. Oswald pulled some medicinal hand ointment out of his briefcase and began spreading it carefully over her skin. 

“Mom, we’ve talked about this: if you need to wash things, wear your latex gloves so you don’t hurt yourself.” 

“I did, but then I needed to wash my hands too.” Oswald bit back the extensive lesson in germ theory that had been brewing in his mouth like bile for over a decade. His mother’s superstitions would never be defeated by science or logic. She eyed his hands apprehensively as he finished applying the ointment and put it away. “You made sure to wash three times in the shower when you got home, right Oswald?” 

“Yes, Mother.” He lied. He retrieved some band-aids and Neosporin from his case and carefully covered the cuts on her fingers. 

“And you took your umbrella?” 

“Yes, Mother.” 

“You kept it with you at all times?” 

“Yes, Mother.” 

“And you washed three times in the shower when you got home?” 

“ _Yes_ , Mother.” 

“Good. You’re such a good boy, Oswald.” She sighed and relaxed into the couch, leaning against him. Oswald wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her head. He kept one arm around her as he began to go over the bills and financial statements in front of him. Ace Chemical’s stock was flatlining, he would drop it for Kane Chemicals which had dipped recently but showed signs of being on the cusp of a noteworthy ascent. But swapping out a few underperforming stocks wasn’t going to spare them from having to tighten the purse strings a little. Between his education, his mother’s cleaning supplies budget, and their property taxes, they were hemorrhaging a lot of cash. 

“Mom, our dividends are down this month, we’re going to have to cut back a bit more. Look, I don’t need a chauffeur. We live inside the city limits of Gotham, there are cheaper ways for me to travel to school and back.” 

“But you can’t drive yourself! I get that car cleaned regularly. What could you ride in that would be safer?” 

“Mom, the world is messy and dirty. But that’s why I follow all your rules and clean up so thoroughly when I get home. We’ll get the car outfitted so I can reach the pedals and I’ll get a driver’s license, and then I can drive myself to school in that car. But until then, I’m going to have to use public transportation.” 

“No, Oswald! It’s too dangerous. Think how many sick and dirty people ride on those buses and trains. Constructions workers with dirty clothes, nurses with hospital germs, servers sweaty from kitchen heat and exertion. It doesn’t take much before it’s too much for your immune system. Oswald, you can’t!” 

“Mother, I have to go to school, and we can’t afford any other options right now.” 

“Fine, ignore your mother’s advice. Get sick and die and leave your poor mother alone.” 

“Mom-“ 

“At least promise me you’ll wear gloves all the way, so your hands stay clean.” 

“Mom-“ 

“And one of those masks like doctors do.” 

“I’ll wear the gloves. I promise I’ll be careful Mom. Now, let’s eat lunch.” 

Later, while his mother was taking her fifth shower, Oswald climbed the stairs and returned to his room. He crossed to the exterior doors and stepped out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Here was his precious aviary. He hoped one day to convert the entire courtyard into a spacious home for his feathered friends, but between his mother’s concern for hygiene and their limited funds he had to put that dream on hold. He distributed some food for the birds, then settled down to work on his homework in the company of his favorite companions. 

On Monday, Oswald rode the bus for the first time. It was a bit smelly compared to the town car he was used to. It took some agility to climb onto and jump off of the buses which never knelt down far enough for his short legs. Except for one time when they had to lower a ramp for someone in a wheelchair and he could walk up smoothly behind them. His fellow passengers were both repulsive and fascinating. Most were dull plebians, and a scintillating conversation was not available, but it was definitely a fine opportunity to observe the human species. Seating etiquette, how people greeted the driver – or failed to, as was often the case. Most interesting was the high number of eccentric individuals one encountered on such transportation. Drunk people, high people, people who talked to themselves. It was certainly an experience. 

Before the start of class, Oswald approached Professor Woodrue to ask about his grade. He wanted to make sure he was getting the highest scores as usual. He’d found instructors were more likely to divulge such information in the relative privacy of a pre-classtime chat than during the rush of handing out tests. 

“51/50. Very impressive Mr. Cobblepot.” 

“If I may ask, where did I place in the class?” Indifference and humility were key at this stage, especially if the professor was reluctant to give out class rankings. 

“Oh, you were 2nd, very good job.” Oswald’s eyelashes fluttered involuntarily. 

“Someone else got a higher score?” He hadn’t been anything but the top of his class since early elementary school. 

“Yes, while you got a perfect score on the questions, your answers to the extra credit question earned you only one point, and another student got two.” 

“Who?” 

“Now, Mr. Cobblepot. That’s confidential.” 

“Of course, Prof. Woodrue, I didn’t mean to be inappropriate, I forgot myself.” Oswald took his quiz and shuffled to his seat. But one of the advantages of being unusually short was that it wasn’t very difficult to go unnoticed when he needed to. So when the professor called for students to come to the front of the room to collect their tests, Oswald slipped between the legs of some of the people at the front and hid under the professor’s desk.” 

“45/50 for you Mr. Anderson, might want to review the names of those lab techniques. 49/50 for you Ms. Balin, good job. 25/50 for you Mr. Evans. If you would like me to help you make a plan to improve your score next week, my office hours are noon to two or you can make an appointment, I generally have extra time weekday afternoons. Ah, Mr. Nygma, an impressive 52/50.” Oswald choked slightly on his own saliva. “I hope you can feel more confident answering questions in class now.” 

“Heh. Perhaps, sir.” Nygma padded away towards his chair and Oswald took a few deep breaths before sneaking back to his own. _Nygma?_ That stuttering teenager who couldn’t remember the names of simple compounds had gotten a higher score than him? Oswald would have sworn he must have cheated, but he had always had a talent for assessing the character of a person, even a mere acquaintance, with precision. Nygma felt a little too… off to be a complete goody-two-shoes. But neither did he seem like a cheater. Something else was afoot. Oswald resolved to keep an eye on Nygma in order to ascertain the root of his fluctuating academic success. In the meantime, he would need to study harder for the next quiz if he wanted to keep his perfect record of being top of every class since 3rd grade.


	5. Study Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed's social life begins to exist.

Edward sat on his bed and shuffled his newest flash cards into his deck. Just like every night, he took a piece of notebook paper and wrote the first side of the card down on one line and then wrote the other side from memory on the line below. He repeated each deck until he could write both sides correctly from memory eleven times in a row. He was in the middle of his deck for Intro to Cyber Security when Jonathan entered the dorm and flung himself on his bed. Ed gave him a closed-lip smile and a little wave.

“Good evening, Mr. Crane.” Ed tried to be friendly to his roommate, but although Jonathan was in no way unpleasant to live with, he was losing hope they would ever be real friends.

“Good evening, Mr. Nygma.” Jonathan replied in his usual monotone with just a hint of a Southern Drawl. He pulled a notebook and several highlighters out of his bag. Edward returned to his flashcards, flipping the one on top over so he could check the answer he’d written down. He was correct. He put it back at the bottom of the deck. Just six repetitions to go, so long as he didn’t mess up on any of the cards. He worked his way through the deck once more before he wrote “sniffing/eavesdropping” instead of “eavesdropping aka sniffing” and had to start over.

“Mr. Nygma?” Ed flinched and turned to look at his roommate who was watching him over the top of his psychology textbook with an appraising gaze.

“Yes?”

“If you are trying to improve your retention, there has been a lot of recent progress in the field of psychology concerning the efficiency of study strategies.” Ed stared at him for a moment. This was the first time Jonathan had ever initiated a conversation.

“Ah, that sounds nice, um, what do you mean?" Jonathan sighed and returned his eyes to his book.

“Well, for instance, studies show that writing in red pen on yellow paper makes notes more memorable than other color combinations. So, if you take all your notes in class that way, and make all your flashcards that way, you could improve your retention enough to cut down on your study time.” Ed nodded, even though Jonathan wasn’t looking at him anymore.

“Um, thank you Mr. Crane. I’ll try that.” Jonathan continued reading his book and didn’t answer. Ed turned back to his flashcards with a small smile. Maybe Jonathan would never be his friend, but perhaps he could still be more than an acquaintance.

The next day, as Edward was packing up his new notebook and pens after class, he felt a finger pat his elbow. He turned to see Oswald Cobblepot standing next to him. His elbow tingled where Oswald Cobblepot had tapped it.

“Excuse me. Mr. Nygma, if I recall?” Ed could only nod mutely. “I’ve been looking to form a study group. I overheard your score on the quiz and wondered if you would be interested in joining?” Ed pressed a hand to his sternum as it rose and fell rapidly with the swell and contraction of his lungs.

“You want me in your study group?” Oswald Cobblepot’s eyelashes fluttered, his mascara drawing Ed’s eyes to their movement, pulling Ed’s gaze to those captivating green eyes.

“Are you agreeing?” Ed fidgeted with the elbow of his glasses.

“Yes. No. Ah- That is- I’d like to, but I have to check my schedule.” His fingers stroked the temples of his glasses. He felt oafish and clumsy and his tongue felt too big in his mouth. Oswald Cobblepot smiled, wide and a little lopsided like the rest of his face.

“Excellent, give me a list of days and times you have available and I’ll try to find a meeting time that works for everyone.” He was still smiling. Ed pressed his lips together and smiled back.

That evening Ed copied all his notes and flashcards onto yellow paper in red ink, then examined his calendar for times he could attend Oswald Cobblepot’s study group during. He couldn’t believe his luck. No one ever invited him to social gatherings, and now he had a personal invitation from someone he found fascinating, a rare man indeed. He just hoped he didn’t embarrass himself too terribly. Ed knew he was smart, he just had trouble getting other people to see it. His commitment to honesty kept him from expressing his intelligence in a way other people could understand. Ed wrote down every possible time he was available, then picked up his flashcards and began his study regimen. Once he was done, he got dressed in his work clothes and left for his job as a delivery driver. It wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating occupation, but it made him enough money to buy food and school supplies. And it didn’t require much in the way of social interaction. Which was always a plus. Not that Ed disliked interacting with people, it’s just that they often didn’t seem to like interacting with him. Maybe joining Oswald Cobblepot’s study group would change that. He could hope.

The next class Ed gave Oswald Cobblepot his list of available times, and the one after that, Oswald Cobblepot told him the time of the first meeting. They met in the library along with Oswald Cobblepot’s lab partners, who Ed learned were named Thomas Bones and Nicolas Naveja.

“So, Mr. Nygma, I thought we’d start by going over the quiz from last week, then we can compare study tools.” Oswald Cobblepot used a lot of doubt words, but his tone made it clear his plan wasn’t up for debate. Everyone took out their quizzes. “How about we go in a circle, starting with Mr. Naveja. If your question got marked wrong, say so and the rest of us will help you understand what happened.” The went around the circle reading questions and answers. Thomas and Nicolas were the only ones who stopped to say they had gotten one wrong, sinking a little lower in their seats every time, but Ed would sometimes ask someone to repeat their answer if the phrasing was very different from his own. It was always nice to have insight into other peoples’ thought processes. Finally, they came to the extra credit question on Ed’s turn, which he read out. It was about an obscure chemist who had worked on a Nobel Prize-winning project but had died before his team won the award.

“Now, Mr. Nygma,” Oswald Cobblepot was looking at him in this intense way that made it hard for Ed to maintain eye contact, “the information in the second part of your answer, I don’t remember that being covered in the textbook or lectures. Did you glean that from an outside source?”

“Ah, no. The “fun fact” note on him in the margin includes a “read more” that directed me to a section in the back of the textbook with additional biographic information about him and other historical figures featured in the text.” Ed jumped as Oswald Cobblepot slammed his hand on the table.

“The “read more” section, of course!” Nicolas and Thomas sunk impossibly lower in their seats. Oswald Cobblepot glanced around at his three tense companions and straightened in his seat, clearing his throat. “Well, that brings us to our next order of business: study habits. How do you study, Mr. Bones?”

“Well, I have a used textbook, so I read the parts the last person highlighted and-“

“Excellent, something for the rest of us to think about. Mr. Naveja?”

“I have a tutor, he goes over-“

“Fascinating. What about you, Mr. Nygma?”

“Oh, I mostly use flashcards. I make cards for every piece of information I can and then I review them every night until I can answer both sides correctly ten times in a row. Also, I’ve started using red pens and yellow paper for both note-taking and card-making.” He opened his new notebook to show them. “My roommate is studying psychology, and he says it helps retention. That is, I think he said something like that. Not an exact quote.” Ed forced out a laugh to distract from his compulsive disclaimer rambling. Oswald Cobblepot leaned forward to get a better look at the notebook.

“Well, I can see how the color combination might burn the words into one’s retinas.” His face puckered up like he’s tasted something sour. His lips pursed, his eyebrows drew together, even his nose wrinkled. It was kind of cute. “Well, let’s all bring our flashcards next time, so we can compare them and study them together.”

Over the next few weeks, the study group became the highlight of Ed’s week. Thomas and Nicolas rarely contributed much, but Oswald Cobblepot was always so vibrant it was a pleasure share his company. He seemed to really listen to everything Ed said, and when Thomas and Nicolas complained about Ed telling them they were “wrong” for not exactly matching the phrasing of flashcards, he told them to suck it up. Although he used more elegant words to do so. No one even made fun of Ed’s riddles, although they got him some weird looks at first. Altogether, it was one of the nicest socializing experiences Ed had ever had. Oswald asked him a lot of questions, and he gave him these searching looks while he answered. It made Ed feel a little tingly inside. He wasn’t used to people paying attention to him, especially not someone he genuinely respected.

“So, the ‘ten times’ rule. Is that another one of your psychologist friend’s tricks?” Oswald Cobblepot was giving him one of those intense looks of his. Ed looked down at the half-finished flashcard in his hand. He felt overly warm, especially in his face.

“No. That’s just, ah, the number I need to do. To feel like I really know it.” He braced himself for a derisive remark, but Oswald Cobblepot just turned back to his own notes and cards.

Ed smiled down at his textbook. Oswald Cobblepot was so special. Ed didn’t know why he was being so nice, Ed hadn’t really done anything to deserve his consideration. Maybe he felt the same strange connection/affinity for Ed that Ed felt for him.

His labs were still hell, Grace was clearly fed up with his erratic behavior as he became increasingly unhelpful throughout the experiment. He didn’t know how to explain why he couldn’t perform a procedure he knew by heart if he had overheard other students doing it. Fortunately, Grace was a proficient enough chemist to keep their lab reports at a B or above. Professor Woodrue had virtually given up on calling on him in class, but participation was a very small part of the grade. If he could keep up his test scores he could get a decent grade.

The next Monday was the first big test, which Professor Woodrue warned was the same style and format as the Midterm would be. Ed made sure to spend extra time studying his flashcards and came up with riddles for compounds and processes in advance. He knew it would be more difficult than previous ones, but he hoped he could at least score above a C. He lined up all his newly sharpened pencils on his desk, so he wouldn’t have to waste time sharpening during the test. He popped a piece of gum in his mouth and watched as the professor passed out the tests. He was feeling unusually optimistic, he’d studied hard, his time in the study group had given him a more multifaceted understanding of the material, and Jonathan’s advice on retention strategies had helped him get through his flashcards more quickly. Surprisingly quickly in fact. However, his attitude became bleaker when he opened the test.

The multiple-choice section was tiny, worth only ten percent of the total score. Most of the questions were short-answer with a true-or-false section as large as the multiple-choice one. Nearly half the points were allotted to two giant essay questions. Moreover, he was actually having trouble remembering some of the information the questions asked about. Usually, he could remember the answers almost word for word, but just couldn’t always feel confident writing them down in case he’d misremembered. Now, there were a few questions where he could only remember vague concepts. Ed took a deep breath. He couldn’t afford to panic. Time to focus on what he could do. The true-or-false questions were a lost cause. He answered all the multiple-choice questions, then answered as many of the short answer questions as he could. There were a lot of ones he couldn’t. Then there were the essay questions. One asked him to describe the steps of a chemical process in detail, the other asked him about a case study from the textbook. It was hopeless. He remembered most of the case study and knew the process inside and out. But he couldn’t write that much from memory without feeling like a liar. He tallied up the points in his head. and knew he would be lucky to get a D. His chest felt like it was imploding, his stomach felt like he was digesting something heavy and rancid, and he felt psychic tears well in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unexpected hiatus! I will post a few more chapters this week to catch up, then return to my usual every-Sunday schedule.


	6. New Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald's scheme is revealed, and successful. But he's left wondering: What is up with Ed Nygma?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I started this story late last summer wanting to update every week. Then I started taking 20 credits per quarter on top of my part time job and everything else got put on the backburner. Spring Break has given me the chance to work on some fic again, but updates will probably be pretty sporadic until I graduate in June. However, I will not be abandoning this story and will start updating regularly again in early June.
> 
> Anyway, if anyone was wondering why Oswald was so nice last chapter, he wasn't.

Oswald felt smug confidence seep into his chest as he worked through the test. Studying with Ed Nygma had not only alerted him to obscure information he might have otherwise neglected to study, but it had also allowed him to conduct subtle sabotage by commandeering a few of his flashcards. Nygma seemed reliant on those cards to the point of dependency, and hopefully removing several key ones would hinder his performance on this test enough to leave Oswald the undisputed top of the class. Oswald quickly worked through the questions and started on the first essay. Suddenly, he heard a hitching breath behind him. He tried to ignore it, but the hitching breaths continue, getting faster and huskier. Finally, Oswald could not take it a moment longer and turns towards the sound. He starts as he sees Nygma quietly sobbing over his paper. Unease stirs in his gut. He’d anticipated his plotting would affect Nygma negatively, but he had expected him to miss a few questions, not completely fall apart. Something pinches in his gut. He feels like a walnut-sized hunk of lead has materialized in his abdomen. The feeling is not unlike the near-nausea he experiences when he makes his mother worry or accidentally bumps into one of his birds. Oswald does not like it. His mother and his birds are allowed to elicit emotions like that because they are his family and he is supposed to care about their wellbeing. He resents that Ed is causing anything even approaching such feelings. Ed quiets down, but tears leak down his checks and drip off his chin. Oswald can’t stand to look at him anymore. He forces himself to focus on his own test and puts Ed’s obvious despair out of his mind. (And since when did he think of him as “Ed”?) But he can’t help but notice how Ed – no, wait, _Nygma_ – wipes his cheeks fruitlessly as he walks up to the front of the class to turn his damp test in when the class time elapses. Oswald hurries out of the room and on to his next class. He should just forget about Nygma and the way Oswald’s actions have hurt him. He didn’t get where he is by playing nice and indulging in empathy. But despite his best efforts, the memory of Ed’s anguish haunts him the rest of the day. 

It haunts him for the rest of the week. Most of the time he can forget about the whole incident. When he’s eating dinner with his mother, or feeding his birds, he can put his issues with Nygma out of his mind. But then he’ll be on the bus and see someone with a similar pair of glasses and be struck by the image of Ed – no, _Nygma dang it_ – crying over his exam. _Maybe he’s just one of those people who gets really emotional over tests in general. Maybe even missing a single question triggers the waterworks. I refuse to feel bad about bumping someone from the top spot to second place._

Their next study session was agony. Nygma acted all pleased to see him, like an absolute witless dullard, then spent the entire time working on replacing the flashcards Oswald stole, talking about how he “knew he wrote this down” and “must have lost them somehow.” Their companions worked quietly, just shooting Nygma awkward looks every now and then. Because they saw him weeping during the test too. Because Oswald’s scheme hadn’t just damaged his grade or caused him emotional distress, it had humiliated him in front of all his classmates. And just to make the whole situation even more irritating and confusing, once he’d redone his flashcards, Nygma could answer all but a couple of them on the first try. He didn’t get the wording exactly perfect on some of them, but even that was fixed after a few tries. Although this did support Oswald’s earlier theory that Nygma was just extremely emotionally fragile when it came to tests and not knowing even a single answer could set him off. _Once we get our exams back we’ll go over them in the study group, I’ll see he has a 99 percent or something and I won’t have to think about this anymore._

They get their tests back the next week. Nygma does not get 99 percent. He gets 40 percent. He blushes bright red as they take turns talking about what they got wrong. Oswald stares at his own 101 percent and wishes he could feel the rush of elation in his blood that usually accompanies a gambit well-played. He won. He should feel smug and satisfied and laugh at Nygma’s weakness and misfortune. He hates Nygma for denying him that feeling.

Home is no respite. A dip in the stock market has dented their already limited finances, the store where he buys food for his birds is short on feed, and the cold weather has inspired his mother to adopt additional rituals to ward of germs and disease. She scrubs everything from the wood floors, to the kitchen counters, to the laundry fresh out of the dryer with anti-bacterial wipes. She refuses to touch any food with her hands and serves mainly prepackaged meals, which also significantly increases their food costs. His mother insists she now needs to wash her hands eleven times every time and it’s making her hands raw no matter how much hand lotion he makes her use. When he was a toddler, Oswald never thought much about his mother’s rituals. She didn’t have many, and they never seemed odder than any other quirks people had. His father always prayed before meals, his stepmother always crossed herself when something offended her, his step-siblings pulled an endless series of mean-spirited pranks, and so on. When he entered elementary school, Oswald learned that some of his mother’s rituals that she said prevented sickness, were rather ineffectual, or even counter-productive in fighting germs. He tried explaining to her that over-use of antibacterial soaps could breed resistant super-bacteria and that too much washing with any kind of soap could weaken the immune system and leave oneself more open to disease. He pointed out that holding your breath when someone sneezes is useless because the germs travel faster than your reflexes. But he quickly learned that his mother’s rituals weren’t logical. They weren’t really about the germs, they were about her emotions and need to feel in control. Once he asked why she needed to wash her hands a certain number of times (it was only three back then) and she explained that: 

“It’s just something I have to do, Ozzie. To make sure for myself.” After his father died of influenza she began adding lots of new rituals. Oswald did his best to accommodate them, but sometimes he got frustrated when he was trying to work, and she kept interrupting him to disinfect the table or all his writing utensils or his briefcase. After seeing her begin to scrub her already raw hands with anti-bacterial soap again, Oswald felt an almost angry kind of irritation build up in his chest. His fingers itched to snatch the soap away. Part of him wanted to yell at her for hurting herself like this. He went above and beyond to follow all her rules, so she wouldn’t worry about him getting sick, and she couldn’t even refrain from a single hand-wash repetition, so he wouldn’t have to worry about her? But he never wanted to yell at his mother and he knew interrupting her ritual would only make her start over, hurting herself even more. So instead, he took some pages of financial data and a highlighter and went up to visit his birds. 

It was lab day in Organic Chemistry again, Oswald attached his safety goggles in the bathroom, to make sure they messed up his hair and makeup as little as possible, then hurried into the classroom. He saw his lab partners – well, minions, really – already seated at their usual lab bench when Professor Woodrue pulled him aside. 

“Mr. Cobblepot, you know how your group is the only one with three members due to an uneven number of students?” Oswald nodded. “Well, Grace Balin had a unique opportunity come up and is no longer able to attend this class section. So, I need one of your team members to team up with her former lab partner. You’re a bright student, and I think you would handle this switch better than your teammates.” Oswald sighed internally, his lab “partners” were so docile and obedient. It could take some time to bring another classmate to heel. But creating a favorable impression on his professor was more important than avoiding minor inconvenience in the classroom. Professors might grade more generously if they liked you, and they certainly provided better letters of recommendation should he ever need one.

“Of course, sir. Who’s my new partner?” Oswald plastered on an eager smile.

“Edward Nygma.” Of course, that ingrate. Just his luck. Oswald tried to keep his expression positive, but his professor must have noticed the way his smile had stiffened. “I know he may not be the… …easier partner to work with. But I think he could benefit from exposure to your work ethic, and your one of the few students in this class I’m confident can master the material even in… …less than ideal circumstances.” Oswald sighed corporeally this time, relaxing his shoulders and leaning forward he glanced up to meet his professor’s eyes through his eyelashes to display a sense of connection and comradery. 

“I’ll do my best, professor. I’m not afraid of a challenge, and I don’t hold Mr. Nygma’s… …level of capability against him.” A complete and utter falsehood. Oswald held Nygma’s abilities against him vehemently. Both for being able to best Oswald under some circumstances, and for disintegrating like cotton candy in the rain under others. Oswald would be quite pleased to never encounter Nygma again. 

“Excellent! I’ll go inform Mr. Nygma.” Oswald watched as Professor Woodrue approached Nygma where he was sitting alone at his lab bench. After a moment the professor looked back and pointed at him, gesturing him to come over. Nygma’s face blossomed into a beam so pleased it turned Oswald’s stomach. As the professor left them alone, Nygma quickly made room at the bench and watched wide-eyed as Oswald sat down and took out his pencils. He actually rubbed his hands together, smoothing one palm over the back of the fingers on the opposite hand, then the other. After a full 45 seconds of charged silence, Oswald spoke.

“So, Mr. Nygma, we meet again.” He hoped he sounded suitably jovial and didn’t betray the internal distress this situation was causing him. 

“Yes. You’re my new lab partner. We’re going to work on experiments together. In this lab. We’re partners. We’re going to-” Nygma stopped abruptly, his face falling. He turned to stare fixedly at the desktop, fiddling with one of his pencils. Oswald wasn’t sure what to make of this behavior, so he ignored it. Presently, the professor handed out the assignment sheets and Oswald quickly listed the items they would need. Nygma caught on quickly that he was supposed to go retrieve them, and while he did Oswald clambered up to stand on his seat. As Nygma brought each piece of equipment – fortunately in order of necessity, he wasn’t a complete imbecile – Oswald set them up and prepared the ingredients. At first, Oswald was pleased with Nygma as a partner. He took direction well and when executing a procedure himself was quick and accurate. In fact, they worked more efficiently together than Oswald had with his two previous partners despite lacking an entire pair of hands. They were far ahead of their peers and Nygma had relaxed from his initial bought of nerves or whatever it was that had made him tense up earlier, shooting Oswald those overly-friendly smiles periodically. However, as they waited for their solution to settle before continuing on to the last step, he suddenly tensed up again. He glanced nervously at Oswald a few times, then covered his ears with his palms, heedless of how the moist fingers of his latex gloves smeared into his hair. Oswald looked around, listening for any sound that might have set him off, but the only noise was the clank of other teams’ equipment and the chatter of their classmates: mostly idle gossip or discussions of how to proceed with the experiment. One group argued over what order to combine ingredients, another pair read ahead to see what to do after their solution had settled, a third team debated which tools use. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

The timer for their solution went off and Oswald tapped Nygma’s shoulder to get his attention. Slowly, Nygma removed one hand from the ear closest to Oswald. 

“Our solution is settled, it’s time to test it on the samples. Would you do the honors? The procedure is a bit difficult for me.” Oswald waved his stubby arms demonstratively, showing off their inhibiting shortness. 

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t.” Oswald blinked stiffly. 

“What do you mean, you can’t? You’ve proven yourself capable of far more challenging procedures just within the last quarter-hour.”

“I mean, I mustn’t.” Nygma bowed his head slightly and peered up at Oswald from beneath his lashes. His brow furrowed, and his hands came together in front of his chest. “I just can’t perform that procedure right now.” Hot prickles filled Oswald’s chest and scathing words built up behind his teeth. But there was something familiar in the way Ed stared up at him, leaning slightly forward, hands clasped between them. Oswald found a desire greater than his irritation welling inside him. 

“Why can’t you, Ed?” He dropped his gaze and turned towards the bench, curling his long frame in on himself.

“I- I overheard that other group talking about it.” Oswald felt a few of the prickles spark again, but pushed on, dissecting the explanation.

“Why does that matter?”

“They described the procedure and if I perform the procedure after hearing someone else say how to do it, that’s like- That’s like cheating.” Ed was practically trembling, his fingers wound into his sweater, clenched tight enough to push the blood from his knuckles. 

“Why would it be cheating? I’ve talked about what we need to do next and you’ve still done it.”

“That- that’s different. We’re partners. We’re supposed to work together. But listening in to other teams isn’t part of the rules. I-I just can’t.” Ed’s lips were pressed into a tight wobbly line. He was blinking an excessive amount.

“Okay, okay.” Oswald found himself reaching out to pat Ed lightly on the shoulder. “But I didn’t hear what they were talking about. If I tell you what to do and you just follow my instructions, is that cheating?” Ed’s knuckles regained some blood. He glanced at Oswald out of the corner of his eye.

“I guess not. No.” 

So, Oswald directed Ed through the procedure, and every other process he felt he needed to restrain himself from completing. Soon Ed was relaxed and smiling again. Oswald hadn’t even realized he’d still been carrying around that walnut of lead in his stomach until Ed’s smiles dissolved it a little. Now it was just a peanut of lead. Ed grinned at him over their completed experiment and Oswald realized he wanted it gone completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. Oswald is learning about guilt. I hope no one hates me for making Oswald screw Ed over, but he is a future supervillain, so... 
> 
> -\\_( ' - ' )_/-


End file.
